


Fight Those Daemons

by WhoStarLocked



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Ardyn Izunia Being An Asshole, Ardyn Izunia Being Ardyn Izunia, Bad Biology, Bad Touch Chancellor Ardyn Izunia, Blood and Torture, Body Dysphoria, Burning, Catastrophic Thinking, Chains, Cutting, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fear, Forced Feeding, Heavy Angst, Hurt Prompto Argentum, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kidnapping, M/M, Manipulative Ardyn Izunia, Mentions of Past Verstael Besithia/Ardyn Izunia, Multi, Niflheim (Final Fantasy XV), Non Consensual Daemon Touching, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Physical Abuse, Poor Prompto Argentum, Post-Episode Prompto, Prompto Argentum Has Issues, Prompto Argentum Has Self-Esteem Issues, Prompto Argentum Needs a Hug, Prompto Argentum is from Niflheim, Prompto has an eating disorder, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Abuse, Tears, Torture, Unconscious Sex, Vomiting, Waterboarding, Weird Biology
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:33:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23324026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoStarLocked/pseuds/WhoStarLocked
Summary: After finding out who, or rather what, he really is, Prompto is en route to Gralea to rejoin Noctis and the others when he runs into a familiar face.And Ardyn has plans...
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia & Prompto Argentum & Noctis Lucis Caelum & Ignis Scientia, Prompto Argentum & Cor Leonis, Prompto Argentum/Ardyn Izunia, Prompto Argentum/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 9
Kudos: 76





	1. Prologue - The Way to Gralea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheDarkestDandelion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarkestDandelion/gifts).



> Please be nice guys, this is my first time writing in this fandom! The idea came from watching the lovely TheDarkestDandelion play through the FFXV game, so you know who to blame ;)
> 
> TW FOR RAPE/NON-CON
> 
> Set directly after episode Prompto. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The only warning Prompto gets that something is wrong is a brief moment of weightlessness and the feeling of his shirt collar digging into his neck before he’s being pressed down into snow by a cold weight. He coughs the snow out of his mouth and belatedly realises that there’s a freezing, unyielding grip on his wrists.

“This is how it’s going to be,” a sultry voice purrs into his ear.

Dread curls through Prompto’s chest as he recognises it. He shudders as hot breath hits the back of his neck, and he tries desperately to twist out of the hold Ardyn has on his wrists. His heart is pounding so hard he can feel it, but there’s no give at all, and he’s so tired. So very tired. Still, he carries on fighting, even as the cold steals his breath, and Ardyn shifts his weight, pinning Prompto’s legs effortlessly.

“At least until your dear friends come to get you, _if_ they bother.” Ardyn murmurs, seemingly oblivious to the struggles of the man underneath him. Cold lips brush gently over the exposed skin of Prompto’s neck, leaving a trail of cooling skin in their wake.

Pain blooms as Ardyn bites down suddenly, and Prompto doesn’t quite manage to hold back a yelp. Blood runs freely down his shoulder. Ardyn chuckles darkly as he pulls away again, still easily holding Prompto down. He keeps trying, because he has to get away, has to get to Gralea and find Noctis and the others, he has to-

His breaths are coming too short, too shallow. Hot tears splash onto his cheeks and freeze there as one of Ardyn’s hands snakes around to the front of his trousers.

Prompto tries to protest, but he can’t get the words past his throat. He can’t breathe, and he can’t get away. Nearly every muscle in his body aches in protest as he thrashes in the snow, completely trapped. Ardyn caresses his hip almost tenderly before dragging his trousers down until they were pulled tight against his thighs.

“My my,” Ardyn grins from above him. “Such a struggle!” He unzips his trousers as he leans down again. He brings his head level to Prompto’s ear, leaning all his weight on Prompto’s wrists where he’s holding them as he whispers.

“You didn’t fight me like this in the cave yesterday, what’s changed?”

“No,” Prompto gasps, voice hoarse, throat dry. “No, no,” He whispers to himself over and over, like a mantra. There are dark spots dancing in his vision, he can’t think, he can’t focus at all, there’s nothing but the cold, and the immovable weight of Ardyn on his back. He cries out in pain, scrabbles forwards, one final attempt to escape, but there’s still nowhere to go, and no one to save him.

He begs, hysterical, barely formed words, but Ardyn pays him little mind as he chases his pleasure. The only concession he grants is to drag Prompto’s wrists closer to them, just close enough that Prompto can bury his head in the crook of one elbow. He can feel tears sticking his eyelashes together as he blinks, trying to just breathe. His ribcage feels too small, and his mouth is so dry he can’t unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. In the end he stills, he stops fighting, he lies in the snow, feeling the heat seep from his body, crying silent tears, his breath hitching. His vision tunnels, and Ardyn’s voice carries to him over the rushing in his ears.

“Excellent, my dear Prompto. It’s going to be so much easier for you if you learn not to struggle now.”

Prompto doesn’t respond. He closes his eyes, hopes that by some miracle that when he wakes up, it will be to Ignis telling him he’s safe as he succumbs to the darkness.


	2. Chapter 1: No Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for rape and graphic torture!

The first thing that he registers is the warmth all around him. Prompto sighs contentedly, and turns over, aiming to cuddle into Ignis’ side and stay there with him before they got up and had to pretend that they were nothing more than friends.

Pain lances through his stomach as he moves, and at the same time, Ardyn speaks.

“Oh, you’re a cuddler, just like your father.”

Prompto startles fully awake, memories slotting into place with terrifying clarity. He scrambles out of the bed they’re in, ignoring the growing pain in his abdomen and legs. He stumbles blindly away from the bed until his back hits a wall. He forces his gaze to move over Ardyn, every instinct screaming at him to find the nearest exit and run.

“You can look all you want, Prompto.” Ardyn is still sprawled on top of the bedsheets, propped up on one elbow as he watches Prompto with an amused smirk. “The only way to get out of this room is through me.”

Dread settles in Prompto’s stomach. He’s trapped. His heart is hammering in his chest, his stomach throbs, he feels like he’s going to be sick. There are no doors in the room. It’s a grey cube. Loneliness hits him like a punch to the gut. There’s no way he can get free, and find his way back to Ignis, or Noct. And there’s no way they could find him here, wherever here is.

“What is this place?” Prompto ask, voice rough and shaky. He still doesn’t move, staying across the room, back pressed into the wall. His training in the Crownsguard had covered torture, very briefly. Try not to get injured, try to find out where you are, and why. Try to be compliant enough that they let their guard down, but not so compliant you let your guard down. Try and gather information.

“It’s your home, for now.” Ardyn answers with a smile. “You see, I need you for something very important Prompto, and I need to make sure that you’re not going to mess it up for me.”

There is something almost predator-like about the grin that accompanies the statement. Prompto suppresses the urge to shiver, although he is not above admitting that he’s out of his depth here. Unless someone, somewhere, knows where he is, and sends help, he’s stuck.

 _Ignis wouldn’t leave me,_ he thinks distantly, trying to gather his thoughts and figure out a plan of action. In the blink of an eye, Ardyn moves from the bed and is standing right in front of him. Prompto hates how much he panics just because Ardyn is close to him. He flinches, tries to edge further down the wall, anywhere that will be further away from him, but before he can Ardyn is crowded up against him – his hands cup Prompto’s face, and he steps in so close that their clothes brush, and Prompto would be able to feel his body heat, if he had any. Ardyn squeezes his skull ever so slightly, just enough pressure to be painful before releasing it. The message is clear enough to Prompto:

Don’t try and move away.

A sickening sense of dread settles over Prompto, and he swallows against the bile rising in his throat. His hands are trembling minutely, and he curls them into fists to try and hide it. Aside from that, he stays stock still, hyperaware of how much he’s tensed up in Ardyn’s grip.

“You and your father are so similar, you know.” Ardyn murmurs, breath hot against Prompto’s lips.

“I am nothing like my father.” Prompto whispers shakily. His throat has gone suddenly dry.

Ardyn smirks, tightening his grip on Prompto in warning. “Not him. I mean your real father.” He pauses, catching Prompto’s eye. “Your birth father, Verstael.”

Despite his fear, Prompto feels a wave of indignance, and he opens his mouth to protest, but before he can speak Ardyn continues.

“He and I shared many a fun time together.”

Prompto’s mouth falls shut, his train of thought broken. He’s so thrown by that admission that he almost doesn’t register Ardyn’s next words. Almost.

“Just like we are going to.”

The statement is accompanied by a leer, and Prompto feels his heartbeat kick up suddenly. The words are laced with intent, and that’s not an experience Prompto is willing to repeat, ever. _Fuck it,_ he thinks blindly, trying to weigh up his options. _There can be no such thing as a room with no exit._

He rushes forwards, aiming to smash his forehead into Ardyn’s nose, aiming to buy himself time to run, to find _something_ , but his head never hits Ardyn’s head. It hits the soft pillows on the bed. He doesn’t understand, they weren’t near the bed, how did they get here, with Ardyn behind him? The bewilderment slides from his mind as he feels Ardyn’s hands on him. His world flips, and Prompto finds himself suddenly blinking at the ceiling of the room. Even though the bed is a soft landing, he’s winded, too busying trying to breathe to fight as Ardyn draws his arms up above his head and secures them with rope. His vision whites-out with terror as he belatedly struggles, hating how cripplingly exposed he feels with Ardyn kneeling over him.

This time, the numb feeling of reluctant acceptance comes a lot quicker, and settles around his heart like a vice. This time, he just stares resolutely at the ceiling, refusing to let himself focus on how it feels, on the lingering sensations. This time, he adamantly refuses to cry.

* * *

The next time Prompto wakes up, he is alone in the room. The pain in his stomach is worse, and he’s not at all surprised when he checks his hips and finds bruises that are definitively hand-shaped. He takes a deep breath, sorely tempted to just curl into a ball and give up. He’s alone and in too much pain, and so horrifically in over his head, and even if he did manage to get himself out of this mess, there’s no guarantee that Ignis and the others would even want him around, knowing what he really is…

No, he has to try and stay positive. Prompto sits up gingerly, breathes through the pain, then forces himself to his feet. He walks around the room, methodically searching for anything, but it seems Ardyn actually wasn’t lying. There’s no exit. There’s not even an obvious bit of fake wall, which begs the question, how the hell is Ardyn getting in and out?

Prom lets himself slide down the wall until he’s sitting, knees hugged to his chest. He buries his head in his arms, and just focuses on breathing. It’s unbearably hot in the room, but Prompto doesn’t uncurl from his position. He’s not sure how long he stays sitting there, nauseous in the heat before he feels like he’s being watched. He looks up wearily, still resting his head on his knees.

Ardyn is standing a few metres away, watching him with a sharp grin. As soon as he has Prompto’s attention, he raises one hand and snaps his fingers with a flourish. In minutes, the room has cooled down to a more reasonable temperature.

“How can you do that?” Prompto asks before he can stop himself.

“Oh, I can do a lot more than that.” Ardyn answers smugly, starting to move towards him. Prompto flinches, but he doesn’t try to stand. It doesn’t matter anyway, Ardyn easily lifts him up by his shirt collar. He doesn’t let go as he starts walking, and Prompto stumbles before he manages to catch up. Once they reach the centre of the room, Ardyn stops. He reaches towards the ceiling, and Prompto flinches as he hears a chain rattle. He looks up as Ardyn grabs his wrist and forces it above his head. There are manacles hanging from the ceiling, where there had been nothing, Prompto’s sure of it. There’s no way he missed those when he looked around earlier, is there? He can’t help his eyes widening with fear as he turns back to regard Ardyn. The chancellor pays him no mind, focused on securing Prompto’s other wrist.

“What the hell?” Prom breathes quietly, confused and scared and feeling more alone than he ever has before. Ardyn brushes past him, crossing the room almost silently. Prompto cranes his neck, trying to watch, but as he does, suddenly the manacles tighten with a deafening clatter, and he’s jerked off his feet suddenly, all his weight hanging from his wrists. He lets out a surprised yelp as he finds himself swaying lightly as the chains settle. The cuffs are chafing at his wrists, and he knows that if he’s kept here for long then shoulder damage is probably inevitable.

“What do you even want from me?” He asks, watching Ardyn make his way back over to him. He flexes his hands, trying to grab the chain, but the cuffs are too tight for him to be able to reach it. He keeps his eyes on Ardyn, breath wild.

“I told you before. I need you for something important.” Ardyn replies, sounding bored. He stops just in front of Prompto, and, ever so slowly, draws a dagger from within the folds of his coat. The gold inlaid in the pommel glints in the ever-present light, and Prompto swallows, regarding the knife with fear. Ardyn contemplates him for a moment, before grabbing a handful of Prompto’s shirt. “I don’t suppose you recognise the blade, do you?” He asks casually as he slices through Prom’s clothes. The material parts like melted butter under the slightest press of the blade.

Prompto watches, silently terrified, as his shirt slides to the ground. He belatedly realises that Ardyn is looking at him expectantly, waiting for an answer, and he shakes his head wildly.

“Of course not.” Ardyn tuts. He circles Prompto idly, letting the cool tip of the blade drag across his now exposed skin. A sharp stinging in his back alerts Prompto to the first cut, and he can feel a thin rivulet of blood begin trickling down his back. “This blade has slain two oracles. And before long it will kill your precious king.” He snarls, nicking Prom’s skin once again. Prompto’s blood runs cold as he absorbs those words.

“You won’t kill Noct!” He gasps as the dagger breaks the skin over his left collarbone. “We’ll protect him.” He adds breathlessly as Ardyn drags the knife down his chest, a growing stream of blood left in its wake. Ardyn laughs, the sound cold and cutting.

“’We’?” He mimics, a wicked grin curving his lips. “You think they’ll take you back once I’ve told them the truth about what you are?”

The taunt hurts more than the wounds, and Prompto feels tears building in his eyes.

“Besides,” Ardyn continues, still carving into Prompto’s chest, “That’s assuming they even bother coming back for you.” Prompto’s shoulders are beginning to burn with the strain of hanging here. He can feel the cuffs starting to cut into the skin of his wrists too. He grounds himself in the pain, if only so he can block out the cruel words. He pictures Iggy, his soft, gentle smile, the one he only gives to Prompto; thinks about how it feels when he holds him close, how warm his arms feel wrapped around him, how it feels so _right_ when Ignis keeps him pressed close to his chest.

When Ardyn steps back, bloodied knife gripped loosely in one hand, Prompto’s breathing heavily, head lowered. There’s blood dripping from his chest and back, running down onto the dark material of his jeans. His skin is tingling, all the minor sensations of pain mingling together until it feels like he’s burning. For a long time, Ardyn watches him hang there, unmoving. The only sound in the room is Prom’s harsh breathing. Only once his blood has dried, tacky on his skin, does Ardyn shift.

“I expect you’re hungry.” He says, voice pleasant, as if he’s talking to a guest, or a fellow politician, instead of someone he’s just tortured. Prompto jerks his head up and regards him warily. Sure, he hasn’t eaten since the night before he helped Aranea – Ardyn, damn it, it had been him all along - in Niflheim, and he is ravenous, but he doubts that there’s no catch in this offer.

“Well? Are you?” Ardyn asks, wiping blood from his dagger carefully, eyes focused on his prisoner. Prompto nods slowly, unsure where this will lead, but not wanting to face more pain for ignoring him. Ardyn grins widely. He disappears into thin air, and then a moment later he’s back, a plate of food in one hand.

He steps in close to Prompto, grinning madly, the light glinting in his eyes. He picks up a sandwich from the plate – which is piled high with bite-sized sandwiches – and holds it in the palm of his hand, in front of Prompto. Just far enough away that Prom will have to stretch to take it from him. He’s filled with revulsion, even the thought of eating from Ardyn’s hand filling him with such shame and embarrassment that he doesn’t want to comply. But, he knows the sensible thing to do is to just comply. Take the food, keep his strength up, no matter how much it pained his pride. Ardyn just watches with a bemused smile as Prompto struggles internally. Eventually, he leans forwards, his neck straining, shoulders burning with the effort. He picks up the food, half-expecting Ardyn to snatch it away from him. He doesn’t, though.

“Good,” He purrs, satisfaction evident in his tone. He busies himself picking up another piece from the plate as Prompto chews mechanically and swallows. After a few days without food, it sits heavy in his stomach, but he still accepts the next sandwich when it's offered. He manages another two, Ardyn giving soft praise every time he leans forwards willingly, even going so far as to ruffle his hair gently. Prompto can feel a blush heating his face, and he determinedly does not make eye contact.

When Ardyn offers a fifth piece, Prom shakes his head wearily. He knows he needs to be careful here, and this lull in the pain Ardyn has inflicted on him feels too nice. He can’t afford to let Ardyn get the better of him like this.

“Take it,” Ardyn says, moving his hand into Prom’s line of sight. There’s a hint of warning in his tone that promises more pain, but Prompto ignores it.

“Oh,” Ardyn sighs, sounding almost sorrowful. “And you were doing so well, too.” Then, he sets the plate down, straightening with only one piece of the food in hand.

Before Prompto can even comprehend what’s happening, Ardyn has his face gripped in one hand, his fingers working in between Prom’s jaws, forcing his mouth open. Prompto struggles, the chains holding him rattling as he tries to pull away, but Ardyn’s hold his enough to keep him mostly in place, a painful vice around his jaw. The warm persona from a moment ago is gone, replaced instead by a stone cold anger that seems to permeate through the air around them. Ardyn shoves the food roughly in Prompto’s mouth then shifts his grip, slamming Prom’s jaw shut so hard that his teeth slice into his lip, blood welling there as Ardyn holds his mouth shut. Prompto lets out a muffled yell of protest, but there’s nothing he can do except swallow the food. As soon as he has, Ardyn lets go, and Prom spits out blood, breathing wildly.

His stomach sinks when Ardyn approaches him with another piece of food.

He tries to angle his head upwards, away from Ardyn, but Ardyn simply slams his fist into Prom’s abdomen. Prompto cries out as the air is pushed out of his lungs, and his head falls as he swings in the chains. He can feel blood on his wrists, slick on the metal. His shoulder muscles scream in protest as he flails about, desperately trying to catch his breath. He doesn’t get a chance to before Ardyn has forced more food down his throat. Prompto chokes, but Ardyn is relentless until he manages to swallow the food. He breathes heavily, gulping down air like there’s no tomorrow. His stomach spasms uncontrollably, and there’s a dull throbbing that makes him feel sick, but Ardyn still isn’t done with him. He grabs Prompto’s jaw again, and Prom pleads.

“No, gods, please no more!” His voice breaks, but Ardyn just continues with what he’s doing.

“But you’re hungry, so you should eat.” He answers icily as Prompto chokes again. Hot tears prick at Prom’s eyes and they stream down his face as he struggles to swallow the food. Another mouthful is forced down him, and he can’t stop himself from retching, almost choking yet again, but thankfully Ardyn releases his hold and moves away as Prompto hurls. His stomach is heaving, and Prompto continues retching until there’s nothing but bile. His throat burns, and his eyes are stinging. His chest and back feel like they’re on fire; some of the cuts bleeding sluggishly again where the scabs have re-opened.

He moans in pain when he suddenly moves, and it takes him a moment to realise that Ardyn is lowering the manacles. He stops just short of the ground. If he stretches, Prompto can just stand on tiptoe and alleviate some of the strain on his shoulders, but it’s hard to keep his balance, and he flails inelegantly, his stomach aching, a vicious headache settling in and the foul taste of vomit in his mouth.

He doesn’t see Ardyn leave, but after a few minutes of only Prom’s ragged breathing, he feels the air starting to get stuffy, and sweat begins to bead along his forehead, and he knows he is alone once more.


	3. Home Sweet Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for rape (non-graphic), torture (graphic), and emotional manipulation

It’s been five days since he was kidnapped. He thinks, anyway. There’s no real way for him to tell the time in the room, and Ardyn doesn’t keep to any kind of regular pattern. Sometimes, he comes and goes constantly, endlessly tormenting him, and sometimes he’s left alone for what feels like hours on end. Going off the basis that the longer breaks are night time, then it’s been five days since Ardyn captured him, and nine days since Noctis pushed him.

And isn’t that the fun truth?

His best friend had pushed him off the train.

Prompto shivers miserably, curled up in the corner of the floor. His wrists ache in the cuffs, the cold metal biting into his skin. Another shiver runs through him, and when he sighs, his breath is visible, curling through the air in front of him.

Okay, so Ardyn has one pattern:

If he’s going to torture Prom, the room gets hot. If he’s going to rape Prom, the room gets cold.

Prompto knows that he’s trying to trick him; that the cold is to make him think of the snow, of the sheer powerlessness he’d felt that day in Niflheim. The worst part is, he’s falling for it, hook line and sinker, but _knowing_ that isn’t stopping it from working.

The room is starting to smell horrendously, vomit and sweat mixing with the cloying smell of congealed blood. His jaw aches, and he knows it’s probably littered with fresh bruises, courtesy of today’s forced meal. _That’s another constant_ , Prom thinks absently. Each day, he’s given food, and each day he’s forced to eat until he’s sick. The portions are getting bigger, and Prom can’t help but resist every time, because he can’t go back to how he was when he was younger. Every time he see the food he’s filled with a horrific dread, and not just because he knows how it will end. He’s not stupid, he knows it’s a problem, and he probably should’ve sought help for it a long time ago, but he can never bring himself to admit that if he eats more than the bare minimum Ignis expects them to eat, he’d be sick - has been, even, on this road-trip. He’s become so used to it, he just makes a quick excuse to leave and runs before he heaves, and he eats minimally again when he gets back to the others. Now, with what Ardyn’s doing, it’s getting even worse than it had been. He hasn’t kept food down in nearly a week, and he doesn’t even feel hungry. This is beyond unhealthy, even for him. Prom knows, logically, that if he’s not eating, then he can’t be getting fat, and yet…

A sob tears free of his throat, and he buries his head in his knees, shackles jingling as he wraps his arms around head. It’s like a floodgate has given way – Prom’s breath hitches and he lets himself cry, rocking himself back and forth like he’s a fucking baby. God, he’s so stupid, thinking that he’d ever be good enough to have friends like Noctis and Iggy, and Gladio. He should’ve known better from the start. He’s a worthless Niff, and it was so fucking stupid of him to ever convince himself he could ever be more than that.

“Oh, dear, my poor boy, whatever is the matter?”

Prom flinches at the voice, but he doesn’t uncurl, and he doesn’t try to get his breathing in check. He’s only going to end up crying again, anyway.

“You can tell me,” Ardyn continues, tone unnervingly… comforting. He settles on the floor next to Prom, wrapping one arm around Prom’s shoulders and tugging him until Prom’s leaning into his side. His hand rubs gently at Prom’s shoulder, and it’s sickeningly similar to what Iggy would do. He doesn’t respond, just continues sobbing quietly. Strong arms lift him suddenly, and he finds himself being settled on Ardyn’s lap, head resting on his shoulder as Ardyn wraps one arm around his back, gently lifting Prom’s head with the other. He uses his thumb to brush away the tears on Prom’s cheek, and says gently:

“Come on, you can tell your dad what’s wrong.”

A cold weight settles in Prompto’s stomach. He has to have heard that wrong. He has to.

“You’re not – you said-” Prompto stutters, struggling both because he’s confused and because there’s still a lump in his throat from crying. He pulls away from Ardyn’s shoulder slightly so he can watch as he answers.

“Oh, yes, Prompto. You’re mostly a clone of Verstael, yes.” There’s a wicked gleam in Ardyn’s eyes, and Prompto swallows nervously. “But you see, to make his clones MTs, he had to alter them slightly. You’re part daemon, my boy. But that’s not where your specialty ends.”

Prompto wants to be sick, but he’s also rooted in place. He’s part daemon? How does that even work?

“You see, your daddy dearest wanted his MTs to be more powerful, like me.” Ardyn uses his free hand to cup Prom’s face as he continues, with a gentle smile. “And you, you were his test subject. He gave you some of my DNA as well, so you see,” Ardyn pauses, strokes his thumb gently across Prompto’s cheek. “We are related.”

He wants to protest, even more repulsed by himself with that knowledge, feeling even more out of place in his body, but he’s too tired. He lets Ardyn tuck his head back into his shoulder. Lets the quiet sounds of Ardyn soothing him wash over him, not taking them in. He stays in Ardyn’s arms, too empty to even cry about this new revelation.

When Ardyn rapes him this time, it’s weirdly gentle, not that it matters, because Prompto doesn’t feel any of it, too busy lost in his mind to pay any mind to what’s happening to his body. He’s a daemonic Niff, and Ardyn’s… what? Son, he guesses.

Yeah, there’s no way he’s getting to go back to Ignis and Noct after this, if it ever ends.

* * *

Noctis is grieving. Gladio is seething with rage. Ignis is trying to keep it all together – emphasis on trying. He’s not usually the one that needs to fall apart, but right now… yeah, it would be nice to fall apart right now. Adjusting to waking up to nothing but darkness is taking its toll on him, and as if that wasn’t enough, Prompto fell.

Prompto fell.

Ignis is in pieces.

But he’s still the one picking _up_ the pieces, of course he is. To be fair, Noctis and Gladio are still totally oblivious to his and Prompto’s relationship, so they’re probably unaware of just how cut up he is by Prom’s sudden loss.

His sweet Prompto.

“Hey,” Gladiolus’ gruff voice cuts through Ignis’ thoughts. “What’re you fretting over?” Ignis feels the seat dip next to him as Gladio settles next to him with a hard sigh.

“What’s not to fret over? Noct is grieving, you’re mad at Noct, I’ve gone blind, and we’ve lost Prompto!” Ignis snaps, rubbing at his forehead restlessly.

“Prompto can look after himself. He’ll find his way back to us.” Gladio says in a firm tone. It’s probably meant to be reassuring.

“You can’t know that for certain.” He answers sharply. “He could’ve been hurt when he fell.”

“He’ll be fine. Our main focus has to be getting to Gralea.” Gladio’s answer does little to make Ignis feel better. He leans back into his seat, sighs, still unable to take his mind off Prompto.

Gods, how he hopes he’s alright.

* * *

Ardyn is smiling madly when he next appears. He’s holding an unlit torch. Prompto doesn’t move from where he’s splayed out on the bed. Ardyn knows that he’ll be in too much pain to move right now, which is perfect, because he’s not about to pass up on an opportunity to manhandle him across the room. He just adores how Prompto gets so tense and flustered whenever Ardyn touches him now.

And this, this is the final step before he’ll be ready to meet Noctis in Zegnautus keep. Ardyn can hardly keep in his satisfaction. He’s so close to breaking him, so close to being one step closer to the end.

For a moment, he simply savours the sight of Prompto, shirtless, littered with cuts and bruises, spread out on the bed. It’s unbelievable how similar he looks to Verstael, and he basks in satisfaction as Prompto lifts his head agonisingly slowly to watch Ardyn. Those beautiful eyes.

He is still human, after all.

Now he has the boy’s attention, he saunters over. There’s no need to rush today – in fact, the more worked up Prompto makes himself, the less work Ardyn will have to do. He leans down, strokes Prompto’s cheek tenderly. Prompto flinches, but otherwise accepts the touch. Ardyn is not really surprised. He’s tired himself out stretching the time to play with Prompto, but it has worked wonders. He’d really gone to town yesterday, so far he’d had to lace the food he’d given him with a healing potion just to ensure the boy didn’t actually die.

And now, he is trembling under Ardyn’s fingers, his lips parting slightly as he lets out a shaky sigh. He blinks rapidly, and his eyes fill up with tears. Ardyn leans down, captivated by the soft feel of Prompto’s skin, the red of his lips, chapped and broken as they are, the way they feel as he captures them with his own. He lets his hand slide through Prompto’s hair, enjoying the silky feel of it as he combs his fingers through it. For a brief moment, Ardyn imagines it’s Verstael underneath him, willing and pliant, as he always was.

When he breaks the kiss, the tears have already begun to roll down Prompto’s cheek. Breaking him fully is going to take no work at all, which just makes it all the more fun.

Ardyn lifts Prompto easily with one hand by the throat. Both of Prompto’s hands cling to his wrist, and his grip is so weak it’s laughable. It’s the only struggle Prompto makes as Ardyn carries him over to the manacles that the boy is all too familiar with now. He lowers Prompto to his knees none too gently, and is immensely pleased that – as he drags the chains towards him – all Prompto does is stay where he’s been put. He curls over his knees, one arm hugging his abdomen loosely, a gentle moan escaping him. Prompto lets Ardyn snap the restraints into place on his wrists, and as he raises him up, he lets out a pained whine that makes Ardyn’s anticipation double.

Ardyn knows his shoulders must already feel like they’re burning, the strain of the repeated stress position becoming way too much for his fragile human body. Prompto’s head is hanging limply, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. He barely even twitches when Ardyn lights the torch. Ardyn stands in front of him, enjoying the shadows the dancing flames cast onto Prompto’s still body.

“Do you remember what you said yesterday, my dear boy?” Ardyn takes another step closer, watching with glee as sweat beads along Prompto’s forehead. “About how you couldn’t possibly be a daemon? Hmm?”

Prompto whimpers slightly and nods – a tiny jerk of his head, but it’s enough.

“Well, here is the proof I promised you.” He continues. He steps in close to Prompto, tilts his head up, catching his eye. “It hurts, doesn’t it? The flames, the heat.”

He keeps the torch close to Prompto’s face, watching as he grits his teeth in pain, the sweat already streaming down his face. “It hurts so, because you are a daemon.” Ardyn hisses in his ear. “Did you never wonder why you can’t stand to spend time in the sunlight your so-called friends bask in? It’s because you are a monster, and the sunlight, it hurts so badly. Much more than you could ever explain to them.” He lets Prompto’s face drop and withdraws a little. “Much more than they could ever understand.”

Prompto’s already breathing heavily, and Ardyn waits, lets him recover before he starts walking in a lazy circle around him.

He walks, letting each step drag, keeping the flame just close enough to Prompto that it will be uncomfortable. Ardyn knows from experience that he’ll be feeling an inexplicable urge to get away from the heat. He pauses momentarily to admire the deep flush on Prompto’s cheeks, before quickly retreating to behind Prompto.

He reaches an arm around Prompto, grips his neck and squeezes, listening to the stuttering gasps as his air supply is cut off. He holds the torch close to his chest, knows it must be painful given the way Prompto suddenly starts writhing beautifully in his gasp. He holds the position, letting Prompto struggle, letting him wear himself out until he starts wheezing desperately. Then, he speaks.

“Did it hurt like this when Noctis strangled you?” He whispers softly. Every time he tries to draw breath, Prompto makes a desperate little sound, and Ardyn takes far too much pleasure in knowing he’s causing that. He’s also quite impressed by the continued struggle Prompto is putting up. Ardyn hadn’t been expecting it to last for even this long today, not after the pain he’d made sure to inflict in the past days. He grins to himself as he realises that Prompto still had no idea it had only been five days since the train in real time. He’s totally oblivious to the fact that Ardyn has been messing with time, has made his days twice as long.

Prompto doesn’t answer. Ardyn can feel his throat working as he tries to breathe. He releases him suddenly, and as his body swings wildly in the restraints, the bright orange flames lick at his throat. The boy screams, but there’s no real sound behind it, he’s still too breathless. Ardyn slowly makes his way back to face Prompto. He makes a show of tilting Prompto’s head this way and that, inspecting the singed flesh of his neck.

“And it must’ve hurt when Gladio pushed you away. Caught you right in the eye, didn’t he? Let me remind you how that must’ve felt.” He shifts his free hand higher, gripping Prompto’s face, making sure his fingers dig into Prompto’s eyes as he forces his head back. Ardyn can’t resist leaning in, careful to keep the flame away from himself, as he sinks his teeth into the freshly marred skin. The lingering heat feels glorious against his lips, and he presses down further, ignoring Prompto’s choked off sound as he finally breaks the skin fully. Ardyn savours the coppery tang of blood on his tongue a little longer then pulls back, releasing Prompto’s face. Ardyn can already see a bruise forming around his eye.

“You do know he hates you, right?” He asks casually, licking Prompto’s blood from his lips, beyond amused as he notices Prompto’s attention is riveted on his tongue. “Gladio.” He continues, enamoured with how long it takes the boy’s attention to shift to his words, rather than his mouth. “He sees you as such an annoyance, you know. His job got ten times easier when you were pushed. Noctis did him a _favour_!” Ardyn spits, taking vicious delight in the way Prompto’s breath starts hitching as he cries. “You were never anything but another burden to him.” He moves the torch under Prompto’s chin. Prompto’s head jerks up immediately, trying to get away, but of course there’s nowhere he can go, and Ardyn smiles inwardly as the scent of burning flesh hits him. “Just one more thing that hindered his ability to look after dear Noctis.”

Prompto shakes his head weakly, whispering softly to himself, small choked off denials, and Ardyn knows he’s so close to breaking point. He’s spent so long studying Prompto’s weaknesses, he knows exactly where to press to make him shatter.

“It’s a marvel, really, how your mind constructed a fantasy where anyone loved you.” He says conversationally, contemplating Prompto in the light cast from the flames. “I mean, your parents took you for money. There was no love.” He says, stepping forwards again. He holds the torch close to Prompto’s left arm. Slowly, but intently, he moves the flame closer to the skin. Prompto thrashes a little, but he has no leverage and little strength. Still, as the top of the torch presses into his shoulder, he screams with a truly impressive volume, considering his state. Ardyn smiles, admiring the scorched flesh he leaves in his wake as he rolls the torch up the side of Prompto’s arm. He’s trying to get away desperately, and blood is running down his arm from the edge of the cuff. Ardyn keeps the torch moving at an even pace until he reaches the restraint. He holds it there for a minute, then draws it away. There’s a path of red, blistering skin running down the side of Prompto’s arm. The acrid smell of burning flesh fills the whole room now, and Ardyn breathes it in, while Prompto cries and moans like a wounded animal. He waits patiently until Prompto’s ugly sobbing has quietened enough for him to be heard without raising his voice.

“And where did they get you? Who was so desperate to rid themselves of you that they paid, hmm?” Ardyn grins, looks at Prom. “Do you know?”

Prompto is still sobbing, but he shakes his head once. His eyes are clenched shut, his right eye swelling rapidly.

“Why, they never told you?” Ardyn grins. “The Marshal of the Crownsguard.”

Prompto’s head jerks up almost comically, blinking rapidly. His right eye is little more than a slit, the barest sliver of blue is visible as he looks at Ardyn.

“No, y-you do-” he breaks off, coughing, his throat clearly raw from his screams. “You can’t mean-”

“Cor Leonis.” Ardyn finishes with a smirk. Prompto makes a wounded sound, a half-formed protest that he can’t voice. “He couldn’t bear to have you in his life, because you’re a monster!” He snarls, circling Prompto once more. He presses the torch into the base of Prompto’s spine and drags it upwards, smiles as he howls once more, writhing as he tries to get away from the relentless heat. Ardyn chuckles under his breath, watching the skin blister. 

“And you know who he stole you from in the first place, of course.” He says evenly, like he’s discussing the weather. He drags the torch lightly across the skin of Prompto’s ribs as he saunters back around to face him. “My lover, your daddy dearest.” He retracts the torch, reaches out to caress Prompto’s face, adjusting his hold to stop him being able to move his head away as he spoke again. “Do you know how it feels to be shot?”

As he asks the question, he jabs the torch into Prompto’s face, between his eyes, across the bridge of his nose, right where he’d shot Verstael. This time, the sound that tears free from Prompto is one of pure fear. Ardyn smiles, content that his work is almost done. Ardyn lets go of Prompto’s head, watching as he tried to turn and bury his head in his arm. He steps forwards once more, mulling over his words as he raises the torch.

“Now, who have we covered so far? Hmm, let’s see. Gladiolus, your parents, Cor, Verstael… who else hates you?” He pretends to ponder this question a moment, listening to Prompto’s breath hitching.

“Ah! Of course, Noctis!”

“No!” Prompto chokes out almost immediately. He’s panting, head lowered, sagging in the restraints.

Ardyn chuckles heartily. “My dear Prompto! You _can’t_ be serious! You don’t _actually_ think he likes you, do you?” He laughs again. Hesitation flashes across Prompto’s face, and that’s the only opening Ardyn needs.

“He pushed you off a train, Prompto.” He sneers, running a hand over the burns on Prompto’s neck. “And not only that,” He grins. “He pushed you off the train to protect _me_. Me! I orchestrated his father’s _murder_ , and he _still_ picked me over you.”

“No, no,” Prompto moans, trying to twist his head away from Ardyn. “No, he didn’t- he thought – you- you messed-”

“Prompto, I can assure you, I did not interfere with Noctis in any way. He made that choice on his own.” Ardyn said, cupping Prompto’s chin gently and steering his gaze towards his own. He almost felt a twinge of sympathy for the completely broken, lost look Prompto gave him. Without warning, he leans back and brings the torch down onto Prompto’s shoulder, landing the exact same blow that Noctis had used to push him.

The noise Prompto made was just… utterly miserable. Ardyn smirks to himself as he drags the torch down, across his collar bone, towards his heart. He removes the torch from his skin, but holds it close enough to burn still, and he circles Prompto’s heart slowly.

“But of course, the biggest lie you’ve told yourself has to be that Ignis Scientia loves you.”

“He does,” Prompto rasps, voice barely above a whisper. He doesn’t sound certain though. It’s a question, a child at prayer. Ardyn, as he knew he would, has broken him. “He does.”

Ardyn laughs again, the sound cold. “You think a man like Ignis Scientia would look twice at something like you?” He sneers, still circling the torch over his chest. “He could have his pick of people, far more worthy of him than a disgusting creature like you.” Ardyn presses the torch very gently over Prompto’s heart.

“Do you know,” Ardyn asks, watching his skin peel back before the flames. “I checked up on them, on their journey, and Ignis never once mentioned you.” He pushes a little harder, hardly hearing Prompto’s choked off whimpers. “In fact, _he_ was the one who encouraged Noctis to continue to Gralea. With _out_ you.”

He catches Prompto’s gaze as he holds the torch steady over his heart.

After a minute, he takes the torch away and extinguishes it. He leaves the room, watching Prompto remotely as he cries, and cries. Only once he’s started to apologise into the empty space does Ardyn begin to gather what he’ll need next.

* * *

His sobs are still echoing through the room when Ardyn returns. He spreads the medical supplies he’s picked up on one side of the bed, and then lowers Prompto’s chains before he makes his way over to him.

He’s on his side on the floor, legs curled close to his stomach. He’s still sobbing, too far gone to have tracked the change in his position. Ardyn releases the cuffs, then scoops Prompto up into his arms. He’s careful not to jostle Prompto’s injuries as he settles him onto the remaining space on the bed. He sits carefully to one side of him, gently strokes his hair and soothes him until Prompto becomes aware of him.

He makes a broken sound, flinches away from Ardyn’s touch, then lies still.

“It’s not over,” He whispers, and he sounds hopeless. Defeated. Just where Ardyn wants him.

“It’s over, Prompto. It’s over my dear sweet boy.” He coos over him, leaning over him to pick up a cooling balm and gently starting to apply it to the worst of the burns. “As long as you don’t fight me again, it’s all over, I promise.”

In the state that he’s in, it takes Prompto a while to process that. He lies stock still, lets Ardyn take care of him.

“I- it’s over?” He croaks eventually, slowly focusing his gaze on Ardyn.

Ardyn smiles sweetly, and presses a gentle kiss to Prompto’s brow. “Promise me you won’t fight me anymore.”

Prompto looks uncertain, no doubt the pain is driving him well out of his right mind. He does nod, though, and stutters out:

“O-okay, I promise.”

“Then I promise it’s over.” Ardyn smiles, strokes his hand down Prompto’s cheek. He offers Prompto some water, which he sips at when instructed to. Ardyn waits until the sleeping potion takes affect before he strips Prompto of his remaining clothes and enjoys his body, knowing it will be for the last time, at least until Noctis is in the crystal.

He treats the worst of Prompto’s wounds minimally while he sleeps. And once Prompto regains consciousness, he smiles sweetly down at him.

“Dear Prompto, do you feel better? Hmm?”

Prompto breaks eye contact, and nods, misery radiating from him in waves.

“Are you going to fight me?” Ardyn asks, and he waits with baited breath. This is the final test. The final step.

“No,” Prompto whispers, voice hoarse.

“Excellent.” Ardyn replies softly. He lifts Prompto up so he’s resting against the headboard before he speaks again.

“Some food, and then we’ll hit the road.”


	4. Let The Games Begin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: torture, pain, gassing, non-con touching!

The cold metal of the restraints bites into the skin of his wrists and ankles as he wakes. There isn’t a single part of his body that doesn’t ache. His skull feels like it’s been split open, though at this point Prompto wouldn’t be surprised to learn it actually is.

“Ah, you’re awake!”

Prompto half-expects to feel disappointed to learn that he’s not alone in the room, but he’s not sure why. He’d stopped entertaining the notion of any kind of escape or relief after the first time he’d woken up in the grey room.

Ardyn is just better than him.

Prompto forces his eyes open, and meets Ardyn’s stone cold gaze from across the room. A razor-sharp smile spreads onto his face as he notices Prompto watching him.

“I am so glad you’re finally awake. You see, your dear Noctis is arriving today, and we wouldn’t want to waste our final day together, now would we?”

Prompto swallows nervously. That can’t mean anything good, and honestly, he’s not sure he can last another day.

“Aren’t you excited?” Ardyn grins. “You might even be out of here today, although, I suppose that depends on whether they really care about you. What do you think?”

Prompto let his head hang, too tired to try and guess what Ardyn wanted from him this time. Instead, he just answers truthfully.

“No.”

It’s a barely-there whisper, but it’s enough. He can’t keep the image of Noctis’ face as he pushed him off the train out of his head.

“No?” He laughs, cruel, vicious, cold. “You’re not excited?”

Prompto keeps quiet, stares at the floor.

“Oh, don’t look so sad, my dear, I’m going to make sure today is full of fun.”

* * *

Noctis curses mentally as the train carriage shudders and gives way, sealing him off from Ignis and Gladio. He walks along the length of the carriage, but there’s no way through. He sighs, and turns around, frowning while he contemplates his options. He needs to get into the keep, to get Prompto, and maybe start to assuage some of the guilt that’s been eating at him since that day on the train. His train of thought is broken as there’s a screeching sound behind him. He turns around, automatically trying to draw his sword – but of course the armiger is still stuck – and finds daemons appearing around him. _Well, this limits my options,_ he thinks with a grimace. He leaps over the first daemon and sprints for the open train carriage.

“Look at you, all by your lonesome.” A familiar voice sneers through the air.

Noctis feels a burning anger filling his chest as he keeps running towards the keep, dodging daemons left, right, and centre. He so desperately wants to strangle that man, it’s a little unsettling. Noct has lost so much in the last two months, his dad, his home, Luna, Prompto… he’s even seething about the regalia, and he’s itching to take down this asshole of a chancellor who seems to be there to guide them into every mistake.

“You again!” He hisses, jumping through the carriage. “You know, for an imperial chancellor, you are one sick son of a bitch!”

He jumps onto a staircase, breathing hard as he makes his way into the keep. Once he’s inside, he goes to one knee, trying to catch his breath. If the place is going to be as overrun by daemons as outside was, then first things first he needs a weapon. He’s not naïve enough to think he’ll be able to manage simply dodging his way through. He sighs, wondering if he’ll be able to wait ‘til Iggy and Gladio find a way back to him, but then he pictures Prompto, alone with Ardyn. He can’t leave him. No, he has to at least start trying to find him.

The realisation that he _has_ a weapon suddenly hits him, and he grabs the ring out of his pocket. For a moment, he looks at it. It seems so innocent, cupped in the palm of his hand. How had something so small and simple-looking have caused so much pain and suffering? Noctis takes a deep breath and picks it up. As he tries to put the ring on his finger, his hand burns, and Noct can’t hold back a pained noise as the air around him turns black. Bright light swirls past him, and he watches, bewildered, as shadows form around him, outlined in electric blue.

“Another would attempt to take our power?” A voice growls through the darkness. Noctis blinks, trying to make out a person, but even though the shadows seem to shift, there’s no one there.

“Let them burn.” A different voice answers, disinterested. Noct opens his mouth to speak when a third voice chimes in, only this one, he recognises.

“Wait!” Regis sounds desperate. 

Noctis felt a sharp pang hearing his dad’s voice again. He wants so desperately to speak, to apologise, to say all the things he never got the chance to say, but he can’t get the words out past the lump suddenly forming in his throat as he feels tears building in his eyes.

“You _dare_ interrupt me again, young King!” The second voice thunders.

“But it’s Noctis!” His father interjects. There’s so much Noctis needs to tell him, and this might be his only chance.

“Dad,” He starts, but the rest of the words die in his throat.

“Noctis, I-” Regis starts.

“Silence!” The other voice roars, cutting off both of them. “King of Light. Do you think you are worthy enough to wield the powers of the kings of the Lucii?”

“I… don’t know if I’m worthy,” Noctis answers honestly. He thinks of Ignis, _blind_ now because he believed in Noct, and Gladio, who dedicated his entire life to keeping Noctis safe, because he _believed_ in him, and Prompto, who’s never left his side, who _needs_ him now. “But, my people need me. I have to try.”

For a moment, nothing happens, then the darkness recedes.

Noctis blinks rapidly, and when he looks at his hands, the ring is on his finger.

* * *

His ribs are broken.

Prompto sucks a shallow breath through his teeth, trying not to aggravate the ceaseless burning sensation in his chest. It’s pointless, really. Existing hurts.

He lets out a sharp cry as Ardyn drives his fist into his midsection once again.

“Tw-twenty!” He grits out, sagging in the restraints in wake of the punch. His wrists are bleeding in the handcuffs, but that pain hardly registers in comparison with – well, everywhere else.

“Good boy,” Ardyn says softly, reaching out to caress Prompto’s cheek. His thumb and fingers dig into either side of Prompto’s jaw. He leans in close to Prompto’s face and roughly kisses him, sinking his teeth into Prompto’s lower lip sharp enough to draw blood. He breaks the kiss as he sends another punch into his midriff, watching with satisfaction as it prompts a coughing fit.

“Twenty-one,” Prompto wheezes after a few moments.

“Oh, well done, sweet boy.” Ardyn croons. “I think you’ve earned a break, don’t you?”

Prompto meets Ardyn’s gaze warily, and he knows what’s coming next. The cuffs release, and Prompto collapses, the hard concrete of the floor unforgiving on his injuries. He tries to sit up, but every movement is agony on his ribs, on the burns spanning his chest and back, and it doesn’t take Ardyn long to retrieve what he needs. Without even breaking stride, he picks Prompto up by his shirt collar and drags him unceremoniously to a corner of the room. At least Ardyn had retrieved his clothes from the Armiger and dressed him earlier, Prompto thinks tiredly as Ardyn releases his hold. Prompto backs himself into the corner, bringing his knees to his chest in the futile hope it might protect him.

Ardyn kneels in front of him, setting a plate down to one side of him.

“Open.” He says calmly, picking up a piece of food. Prompto shakes his head violently, jaw clenched tight.

“Now, Prompto, I thought you learnt this lesson yesterday.” He sighs. “You’re only making it worse for yourself.” He warns.

Prompto is trembling. He can’t stop it. He meets Ardyn’s hard gaze, but he doesn’t open his mouth. He vaguely remembers agreeing – promising, even – not to fight Ardyn anymore, but it’s difficult to know whether that really happened, everything hurts so much. Regardless, right now there’s one voice breaking through the fog clouding his mind, and it’s telling him that he can’t afford to eat, can’t afford to go back to how he was, can’t afford to disgust his friends -

 _But you don’t have any friends,_ Ardyn’s smooth voice hisses in his mind. He breathes out shakily, desperate to focus, but his thoughts are scattered and everything is a blur of pain and he _can’t…_

 _Can’t what?_ He whimpers, thoughts spiralling away again as a real voice breaks through the cacophony of fake whispers in his head.

“Fine.” Ardyn says curtly. “We’ll do it the hard way, then.”

Prompto curls up as best he can, raising his arms, as if he doesn’t know by now that there’s no chance of fending off this attack. He pushes away Ardyn’s arms as he tries to reach for Prompto’s chin. Ardyn grabs his wrists, forcing his hands down with ease. Prompto musters all the energy he can and aims a kick at Ardyn’s chest, the manacles on his ankles jangling against the floor.

Ardyn smiles at him and chuckles quietly. He shuffles forwards until one knee presses the chain in the manacles to the floor. Prompto tries to kick again, but he can’t make contact.

“Let’s try that again, shall we?” He murmurs softly, raising an eyebrow expectantly. He watches as Prompto’s eyes fill with tears.

“Please, not this.” He begs, looking up at Ardyn. “Please, anything else.” his voice breaks. When Ardyn gives no reaction, Prompto just looks down. He’s about to give in when Ardyn speaks.

“Oh, really?” He grins devilishly, and Prompto’s mind isn’t so clouded as to not realise he’s just walked straight into yet another trap. “ _Anything_ else?”

Prompto nodded, feeling utterly defeated.

“Then you’re on board with my plans for the rest of the day, hmm? No more fighting, Prompto, or I will turn you into what you were always meant to be and send you out to meet your dear friends.” Ardyn growls. Prompto feels suddenly cold, sick with dread.

“What’re you gonna do to me?” Prompto whispers, curling up on himself as much as he can in Ardyn’s grip.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much about that.”

* * *

“Too quiet for comfort.” Noctis murmurs to himself as the ring drains the life force of another daemon. They seem to be everywhere, and Noct can’t help but wonder what the hell happened here. He flinches wildly and whirls around when Ardyn’s voice filters through the vast room he’s in, but the man is nowhere to be seen.

“How does it feel to be powerless? Can’t help your friends if you can’t help yourself.”

Noctis grimaces, trying not to let the words get to him. He has a job to do here, he needs to _focus._

“Gotta hurry and find them… wherever they are.” He mutters, trying to ignore the way his heart is pounding in his chest.

Ardyn chuckles to himself as he watches Noctis begin to make his way to them, responding to Ardyn’s words even though they’re not aimed at him. He wonders how long it’ll take Noct to figure that out. 

His attention returns to Prompto as the boy whimpers in front of him. He’s on his knees, blindfolded, hands tied securely behind his back. Ardyn feels a smile pull at his lips. If he says so himself, he’s done an excellent job of breaking Prompto, and watching him tremble at the sound of Ardyn’s voice, he can’t help but feel smug. Of course, now more than ever, he needs to be careful. He can’t let Prompto hear anything that might make him realise that his friends do, in fact, care about him. He needs Prompto to be _wrecked_ if he’s going to spur Noctis into the damned crystal. 

Ardyn leans forward and runs a hand through the boy’s hair. It’s not soft anymore. It’s matted, slick with dried sweat and blood. He scratches lightly at his scalp, feeling dirt gather under his nails as he does. It’s worth it when Prompto’s breath catches momentarily in his throat. 

“Who’s going to tell poor Noctis that he’s walking into a trap?” Ardyn muses, letting his hand trail down the side of Prompto’s head. His face is bruised spectacularly: deep purple and blue marks all along his jaw, with a littering of older bruises just visible in some places. They stand out in stark, brilliant contrast against his pallid skin. His eye is still blackened and swollen too, and the burn on his nose is an angry red, ringed with blistering skin. Painful, but not quite as bad as the rest of them have turned out. The skin along the outside of his arm had been blackened, the burns much worse than Ardyn had intended. Still, they’re serving their purpose - keeping him in pain, a constant inescapable reminder of Ardyn’s taunts. 

Prompto twitches at his words, but he doesn’t try to move beyond that. 

“You want to help him, don’t you?” Ardyn asks, sympathetic as he takes his hand away. Prompto tries so hard to cover his flinch at the loss of contact, but Ardyn sees it anyway. “So loyal, even knowing that he despises you.” 

Prompto’s head ducks down ever so slightly, but that’s his only response. 

“Tell you what, let’s play a game. It’ll help to pass the time.” He grins when Prompto stiffens, his breathing getting more rapid as he decides whether he’s going to put up a fight. Ardyn relishes the moment that he gives in, his shoulders dropping in defeat. 

“What game?” He asks. His voice is hoarse, barely audible. 

“I’ll give you a task, a challenge.” Ardyn says slowly, wanting to make sure the boy can follow him. “ _If_ you pass, I’ll give you a chance to help dear Noctis.” 

Ardyn watches Prompto’s throat work as he swallows.

“What if I don’t?” He rasps out. 

He’s surprised that Prompto had thought to ask. He’s misjudged slightly how ruined the boy’s mind is. _No matter_ , he thinks, giving him an appraising look. It’s wasted, of course. Prompto is still blindfolded. _I still have plenty of time to amend that._

“If you don’t do it, or you try but fail, I get a chance to tell Noctis just exactly what you are.” 

Prompto’s lower lip trembles, and for a moment Ardyn thinks he’s going to cry, but he just exhales shakily, bowing his head. 

“Okay.” He whispers at his lap.

“ _Good boy_ .” Ardyn praises, drawing the words out, knowing Prompto will pick up on the sincerity in his tone. He bends over, nudges Prom’s face up towards his own with a hand under his chin and presses a soft kiss to the boy’s brow. Prompto shivers in response. It’s _beautiful._

* * * 

“Can’t you simply taste the air of foreboding?”

On the screen in front of him, Noctis frowns at the words. Ardyn smiles as he watches Noct’s step falter. He’s second-guessing himself. Perfect. 

Even more perfect, is that Noctis could do all the second-guessing in the world, and he’d still never figure out what Ardyn’s doing to his friend. 

Prompto is gasping for breath, sealed into the chamber that’s filling slowly with noxious green gas. It’s so thick, Ardyn can only just make out his figure, curled over on his knees, clutching at his chest with one hand, as if he could will his lungs to function properly if he tried hard enough. Good thing Ardyn had thought to stick a monitor on the boy before leaving him. More gas hisses into the room, and he loses sight of Prompto entirely. He watches the monitor in front of him, noting the exact concentration of the gas which makes Prompto lose consciousness. After all, he needs to get it just right later, when it’ll be Noctis’ turn.

He switches off the gas and waits for the room to clear before he goes to retrieve Prompto. Noctis will now be making his way towards the first of the rogue patrols that he’s set up. Ardyn splashes water onto Prompto’s face, smiling down at him when the boy gasps and splutters as he wakes. 

“These don’t look like regular MTs.” Noctis’ voice filters through the speakers. Prompto’s face falls, and Ardyn can’t hold back laughter at the stricken look. He presses a button on the computer in front of him, so Noctis won’t hear his next words.

“Aww, better luck next time.” He crows, delighted when Prompto has to visibly work to hold back a sob. He watches Noctis on-screen using the ring, and flicks the speakers on again. 

“Must be tiring, having to run all the time. That magic is a royal disappointment.” 

Noctis’ jaw clenches, but he doesn’t answer. It’s just as well, Ardyn doesn’t want Prompto to hear his voice again just yet.

Prompto frowns at him from the ground, and Ardyn presses a finger to his lips with a smile.

“Ready for the next challenge?”


End file.
